


Temporary Wounds

by prouvaireafterdark



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Michael Guerin Needs a Hug, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Michael Guerin, Pining, Sexual Tension, The Miluca Friendship We Deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-01-27 11:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21391189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvaireafterdark/pseuds/prouvaireafterdark
Summary: “Why are you doing this to yourself?” Maria asks him.Michael looks away and takes a sip of his beer. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Sure,” she says, “You’re just staring atyour ownreflection in the mirror like it just insulted your mother.”***When Alex brings his new boyfriend to the Wild Pony, Michael could really use a friend.
Relationships: Alex Manes/Original Male Character(s), Maria DeLuca & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 108
Kudos: 463





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that Tyler Blackburn interview where he talks about Alex's new boyfriend having blue hair and helping Alex open up/be more emo.
> 
> This fic is, at times, unkind to Alex’s new boyfriend, but that’s mostly because it’s told from Michael’s perspective. 
> 
> Also, since we don’t actually know who "Forest" is (could be a love interest, but he could also be Alex’s brother tbh) I decided to jump through as many hoops as I could to not name Alex's boyfriend lol. I just like to imagine Michael hears a sad trombone noise whenever someone says Alex’s boyfriend’s name.
> 
> This is the hurt part of the hurt/comfort, just fyi

Michael’s pretty sure he’s never hated anyone more in his life.

_Well_, he thinks, clenching his newly healed left hand into a fist, _maybe_ _that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But still. Fuck this guy._

Michael can see him in the reflection of the mirror above the bar, crowding into Alex’s space, his hand _very clearly_ on Alex’s thigh, where they sit at one of the back tables with a bunch of dudes Michael doesn’t recognize. He sees how relaxed Alex looks too, all confidence and casual smiles, his arm slung across the back of that blue-haired fuck’s chair, and it just… well, it breaks his fucking heart.

He’s lost track of how many daydreams he’s had that looked just like that: Alex, relaxed and happy in Michael’s presence, not a care in the world that other people can see the two of them clearly _together,_ fitting like two halves of the same whole.

It was a nice fantasy, but that kind of PDA was always, _always_ off the table for them. Alex was just too scared.

Not that Michael can _blame_ him exactly. He knows how internalized homophobia works. Still there’s that nasty voice inside him—getting louder and louder these days—that makes him wonder what’s so fucking special about this guy that he gets to bask in the glory of Alex Manes in full view of the whole damn bar, and Michael had to fight and beg for scraps of his attention for a _decade_.

_Why wasn’t I worth it?_he wonders sadly, picking at the waterlogged label on the neck of his beer. He knows that’s not fair, knows he’s not exactly easy to love, but still. It hurts.

Before he has too long to stew in his feelings, Maria walks into his field of vision, polishing a glass behind the bar in front of him.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks him.

Michael looks away and takes a sip of his beer. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” she says, “You’re just staring at _your own _reflection in the mirror like it just insulted your mother.”

The last person Michael needs to be reminded about right now is his mother, and the look he shoots her tells her that.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“ she says, eyes wide and apologetic.

Michael raises his hand up to stop her. “It’s fine,” he says. It’s not, the wound still fresh even after all these months, but none of that is Maria’s fault.

A woman at the other end of the bar waves Maria over, and she gives him another apologetic look before she puts the glass down and goes to take her order. He keeps his eyes fixed on the woodgrain in front of him, resisting the temptation to look back in the mirror.

It’s another long minute before Maria returns, so when she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” Michael’s not entirely sure what she means.

“About what?” he asks, taking another sip of his beer.

“Your boy problems,” she clarifies, nodding discreetly in the direction of Alex’s table.

Surprise and suspicion war on his face at that. Michael can count on one hand the number of times the people in his life have showed any interest in listening to him talk about his feelings and he can’t help but feel like this is a trap.

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” he asks instead.

“Why?” Maria asks, “Because we used to—“ she starts to ask, but breaks off, struggling for the right words before she just finishes with, “you know.”

He does, though he isn’t sure what to call it any more than she is. _Dating_ feels like too strong a word, but fucking doesn’t sit right either. Whatever it was, it went on for exactly long enough for Michael to ruin whatever chance he had to make it work with Alex before said blue-haired fuck waltzed into town with his stupid skinny jeans and denim jackets that were actually 80% patches and pins with dumb slogans on them like SAVE EACH OTHER THE WHALES ARE DOING FINE and WILL COMMIT SINS FOR CONCERT TICKETS. 

“Because you’re his friend,” Michael answers.

“Sure, but, unless I’m mistaken, I’m yours too,” she says, and that... Well, that comes as more of a surprise than it probably should.

Sure she lets him back in the Pony for drinks and he listens to her vent about her latest troubles with Mimi, but there was a good two weeks where they didn’t talk at all after their non-relationship quietly imploded and she found out about the whole alien thing. He didn’t think he’d made it that far back into her good graces.

A year ago, he might’ve joked that Maria _does_ like him after all, but now all he can do is ask, “Really?”

“Yes, Guerin, _Jesus_,” she says incredulously. She grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours him a glass. “I’d ask who hurt you, but I think I already know the answer.”

Michael can’t help but laugh. “If you want to make a list, we’ll be here all night,” he says, lifting the glass of whiskey and shooting it back in one go.

When he meets Maria’s gaze again, he sees that she’s frowning at him.

“Look, Guerin…” she says, hesitating before she reaches out to cover his hand resting on the bar with her own. “If you don’t _want_ to talk about it, that’s fine, but if you don’t think you _can_ talk about it, that you’re not allowed to or something, I just want you to know that that’s not true. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here.”

He lets that hang between them for a moment before he replies.

“You don’t have to be, you know,” he says. He knows Maria’s feelings for him went a little deeper than his went for her and he doesn’t want to hurt her again.

Maria just rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to be nice to you here, Guerin,” she says. “Would you just shut up and let me? Besides, I’m psychic. I know you want to say yes.”

Michael bites his lip to hide his smile.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” he says. He’s planning on leaving it at that, not wanting to spill his guts during opening hours where anyone—including _Alex_, wouldn’t _that_ be fun—could hear him, but he catches a glimpse of Alex in the mirror and he just can’t help but ask, “Look, I, uh, I don’t really want to get into it now, but…” Maria watches him patiently. “If I ask you something about him will you tell me the truth?”

Maria considers that carefully. “I won’t lie to you,” she says, “but I might not answer either.”

“Fair enough,” he nods. He wouldn’t want her to betray Alex’s confidence anyway.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is he happy?” Michael asks. 

Maria hums in consideration, fingers toying with her pendant. Michael feels like she’s holding his heart in her hands.

When she finally says, “Yes,” he thinks he feels it break.

When, a second later, she adds, “Well, in a way, I guess,” Michael has to swallow the grief that’s clawing at his chest to ask, “No offense, but what the fuck does that mean, DeLuca?”

“Look, I don’t know everything, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did, but…Okay, you’ve probably noticed Alex has been channeling his inner Gerard Way these days, right?”

_Yeah_, Michael’s noticed. He about had an aneurism when he saw Alex’s new leather jacket, and his hair is_ definitely_ not short enough to meet Air Force regulation. His new look is hot as fuck, but Michael doesn’t see how that plays in here.

“Yeah, and?”

“This new guy he’s with encourages that, I think. Makes him feel like he did in high school, back when he was a feisty little shit who took no prisoners, fuck the consequences, you know?”

Michael nods, eyes on the glass he’s twisting between his fingers. How could he forget? He watched that boy die in front of him in a tool shed eleven years ago.

Suddenly, he doesn’t feel much like talking anymore.

“Well, thanks for the pep talk, but, uh, I’m gonna head out,” Michael says as he stands up and puts his hat back on. “It okay if I settle up next time?”

“It’s on the house,” she says, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Sad cowboy discount, one time offer.”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles and tips his hat in gratitude. “Thanks, DeLuca.”

He tries not to let his gaze wander to the back of the bar on his way out, but Alex’s laugh draws his attention like a moth to a flame.

His new boyfriend isn’t hanging all over him anymore and he’s got his hand wrapped around a half-empty pint of beer. He must feel Michael’s eyes on him because he meets his gaze across the room.

Déjà vu hits Michael square in the chest, and he expects Alex’s smile to fall from his face, for him to look away and pretend he never saw him, but… he doesn’t.

Instead, Alex’s smile mellows into something softer, something meant just for him. It makes him feel like he’s been scraped raw and hollowed out, the ache in his chest so great he feels like he might keel over at the slightest breeze.

Michael plasters on a fake smile, waves for good measure, and leaves the bar to nurse his broken heart in peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically “Michael Guerin tries to be supportive and understanding: the chapter”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since my last post, I've had a hell of a semester. 
> 
> Also I’m extending this to three parts! We’ve got some more angst, but we end with a little more hope than we started with.

They’ve been doing this _hanging out_ thing for a while now. It started about a month ago when Alex showed up at his Airstream with a six pack and some burgers from the Crashdown as a peace offering.

(_“Look, I’m tired of not asking for what I want and I want you in my life, Guerin.” _

_“How’s your boyfriend feel about that?” Michael asks, trying his best to keep the venom out of his voice._

_Alex shrugs, “He trusts me. And he knows that you’re important to me. If you want me to go, I’ll go, but I’d like it if we could be friends.”_

Friends_. Michael doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry. He’ll be in love with Alex until it kills him. _

_He gestures toward the empty seat across the fire all the same._)

It’s nice.

Every minute Michael’s around Alex and can’t touch him is painful, but still, it’s… nice. Certainly better than the alternative. Michael would rather have this than nothing.

And in some ways, they understand each other better than they ever have before, now that they’ve actually taken the time to talk and _listen_ to each other.

It works, as long as they avoid certain topics of conversation, such as the giant blue-haired elephant in the room.

(_“So, how are things between you and the wannabe emo frontman?”_

_“He has a name, Guerin,” Alex complains._

_“Does he? Sorry, I’ve only got room in here for essential information these days,” he says, tapping his temple with his index finger. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows he’s said the wrong thing._

_“Look if you’re gonna be a dick, I’m just gonna go.” Alex moves to stand, but Michael panics and reaches for his arm to stop him. _

_“No, come on, please. Don’t go. I didn’t mean that,” Michael pleads. He can feel the warmth of Alex’s skin beneath his flannel where he’s gripping his forearm. Alex has stopped moving and is looking at him with an unreadable expression. “I’m sorry.”_

_“For what? Insulting my boyfriend or making me want to leave?” Alex asks, unconvinced. _

_Michael sighs and chooses his words carefully. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, I just want to make sure he’s treating you right. That’s all, I swear.”_

_“Really?” Alex asks, head tilted to the side. His anger has dissipated, confusion taking over. “You care about that?”_

_Now it’s Michael’s turn to be confused. “Of course I care, Alex,” he says. “You’re my—you’re my _family_, and if this guy isn’t treating you the way you deserve I want to know about it.” He’d also rather carve his own heart out than hear that Alex’s relationship is sunshine and daisies, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. In the face of Alex’s stunned silence he adds, “What, you don’t believe me?” _

_“Sorry, it’s just—“ Alex hesitates, his voice stilted and unsure. “I didn’t think you’d feel so… protective of me, given the circumstances.”_

_Michael scoffs at that, letting his hand drop from Alex’s arm. “I’ve always been protective of you, Alex. That ain’t new.”_

_“Yeah,” Alex responds, his voice echoing the sadness in his eyes as he no doubt remembers the way Michael threw himself in Jesse Manes’ path to protect him. The way Michael chose to leave his mother to die alone so Alex wouldn’t die too. “Yeah, I know.”_)

Which is why, when Michael goes to the Crashdown to pick up some breakfast before heading over to Alex’s bunker to look through some files, he’s completely blindsided by Liz asking, the second he crosses the threshold into the diner,“Do _you_ know what’s going on with Alex and his boy toy right now?”

“Um, no?” Michael responds, standing awkwardly by the door in his confusion. He spots Maria sitting at the counter when she waves at him.

“Damn it,” she says, turning back to Maria. “There goes one theory.”

“Well, not necessarily,” Maria counters. Liz gives her a conceding nod.

“What’s going on?” he asks as he walks up to the counter.

Liz and Maria share a look before Maria answers, “We don’t know, but apparently they had a pretty explosive fight at Saturn’s Rings last night.”

“About what?” he asks.

“I mean, we can guess,” Liz says, giving him a look that puts him on the defensive.

“I have nothing to do with this,” Michael argues. He might hate the guy’s guts, but he’s not trying to sabotage his relationship with Alex.

“No one’s judging, Mikey, but… you two have been getting awfully close lately.”

“Yeah, and? Doesn’t mean we’re fucking.”

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish they were either, but he’s not about to let his friends think he’s a home wrecker, especially when he’s been trying _really hard_ not to be.

“Whoa, no one’s saying you are,” Maria interjects. “Just that, you know, maybe there’s someone who _thinks_ you are.”

“That’s bullshit,” he says, though he has to admit that there’s a small, possessive part of him that’s pleased at the idea of that blue-haired fuck feeling threatened by the connection he has with Alex. “Can I just order my food and be on my way? I’ve got things to do.”

When he orders his and Alex’s usual, Liz smirks at him before disappearing into the kitchen. Once she’s gone, Maria pats the bar stool next to her and he accepts her invitation. The seat creaks gently as he spins himself leisurely around on it, his brain processing too much for his body to keep still.

“What are you thinking?” asks Maria, watching him carefully.

Michael sighs. “That I should talk to him before jumping to any conclusions.”

“Huh. How very mature of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned my lesson,” he says. “Communication really is key,” he adds with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“Alright then, how are you _feeling_?”

_Relieved? Overjoyed? Hopeful? Nervous?_ The list goes on and none of it is going to mean a damn thing if this turns out to be bullshit.

He shakes his head, but Maria doesn’t stop looking at him.

“I mean, you’ve got to be feeling some type of way about it,” Maria continues. “Isn’t this what you want?”

“Don’t make me say it,” he begs finally, eyes on the counter. “If I say it, it’ll make it real and if it’s for nothing, I…” Michael swallows thickly, shoving down the hope that Alex and his boyfriend really have broken up.

He feels like shit just thinking it, but he can’t help it. He hates that guy and he hates how he gets to just _be_ with Alex in the way he never could.

Maria’s hand comes up to rest on his back, rubbing gently over his denim jacket. “It’s okay,” she says, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“Is it?” he asks, finally turning to her, voicing his guilt. “He could be hurting right now and all I can think about is what this could mean for _me_. I mean, how fucked up is that?”

“It’s not fucked up, Michael. It’s human.” Michael scoffs at that, about to point out the obvious, but she stops him. “I know that you know that, no matter the circumstances, you want Alex to be happy. We all do. But it’s not wrong for you to want that happiness to be because of _you_, not some other guy. So just cut yourself some slack, okay? Your feelings are natural. They don’t make you a bad person.”

Michael lets her words sink in a little and tries to believe them.

“Besides,” Maria adds while he’s thinking, leaning in conspiratorially, “you’re not the only one who thinks that guy is kind of a tool.”

Maria gets a genuine smile out of him for that. Not for the first time, he thinks that maybe, in a world where he’d never met Alex Manes, they could have really been something.

He leans over and pulls Maria into a hug, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“Thanks, DeLuca,” he says, trying to convey how much he appreciates her. Not many women in her position would be as gracious and kind, especially not to him.

“Just make sure you pay your tab next time you come to my bar and we’ll call it even,” she jokes as she pulls away, the heavy sentimentality of the moment making way for their usual brand of light banter.

“What about that sad cowboy discount?” he asks, cheeky smile on his face.

“That was a one time offer and you know it, Michael Guerin.”

Michael lets himself into the Project Shepard bunker twenty minutes later. He finds Alex looking through a manilla file at the table, wearing a leather jacket and a frown.

“Hey,” Michael says, walking down the steps toward him.

“Hey,” Alex replies, looking up with a bleary-eyed smile. As soon as he smells the coffee and egg sandwiches, he reaches toward Michael with both hands and says, “Oh, thank god.”

“You get any sleep last night?” Michael asks, handing it over. “Heard it was a bad one.”

Alex freezes with the coffee halfway to his lips.

“Heard about that, did you?” Alex asks, and then goes to take a sip.

“Word gets around,” he shrugs, sliding into the chair next to him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex says. “Really, I’ll be fine,” he adds when Michael keeps staring.

He doesn’t _sound_ that upset, so Michael says, “Okay. Good,” and lets it go. He starts pulling some files off the pile on the table so he can read while he eats.

“Not gonna ask me what happened?” Alex asks around another sip of coffee a few seconds later.

“Didn’t think you’d want to tell me,” Michael answers.

Michael thinks that’s the end of it until Alex breaks the silence a minute later.

“I broke up with him.”

Now it’s Michael’s turn to freeze. Alex watches him carefully over the lid of his coffee cup as he struggles to guard his facial expression. Smug satisfaction probably isn’t the _best_ look to have right now.

Face carefully neutral, Michael asks, “How come? Thought he reminded you of what you were like in high school.” _Before I ruined your life_, he doesn’t add.

“Where did you hear that?” Alex frowns.

He doesn’t want to throw Maria under the bus so he shrugs and asks, “Am I wrong?”

“No,” Alex admits. “That’s part of the problem, actually.”

Michael’s face draws together in confusion.

“Why would that be a problem? Teen you was a total badass.”

“Oh and I’m not now?” Alex challenges, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Look at you, fishing for compliments,” Michael teases because he can’t help it. Alex rolls his eyes. “Come on, you know what I meant. So what was the problem?”

Alex hesitates before saying, “I don’t know if now’s the time to get into it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to start a conversation we’re not ready to finish.”

Michael pauses to consider what that means. He knows what he _wants_ Alex to mean, but the conversation Alex has in mind could just as easily be something else.

“Okay,” Michael says, unwrapping his egg sandwich with forced nonchalance. “Well, when you’re ready to start it, let me know.”

So he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not... crazy about how this chapter turned out. I liked the little flashback scenes and wanted to fit them in, but idk if it disrupted the flow of the chapter too much. Still, I hope you liked it! 
> 
> As always, come find me on tumblr [@prouvaireafterdark!](https://prouvaireafterdark.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking FINALLY done with the final chapter! Sorry it took so long, but it's twice as long as the other two chapters combined, so hopefully it's a fair trade-off.
> 
> Thank you all for joining me on this journey!

He’s at the Pony again, five shots too many into what was supposed to be a relatively chill night, but, well, it’s also the eleventh anniversary of the day Alex left for basic training and Michael is feeling sorry for himself.

It’s been weeks since Alex and He Who Shall Not Be Named broke up, but Alex still hasn’t told him why. Michael can’t shake the feeling that that’s important somehow, that maybe the reason they broke up has something to do with _him_, but he sure as hell isn’t about to ask.

So that leaves him here, on the yearly reminder of one of the shittiest days of his life, drowning his sorrows at the Wild Pony like he’s done just about every year running. He’s idly dragging his finger around the rim of his whiskey glass when Maria appears in front of him.

“So,” she starts, leaning forward over the bar on her elbows, “Alex texted me.”

His ears perk up a little at the mention of Alex, but when she doesn’t elaborate, Michael responds, “Congratulations?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “He’s looking for you.”

“Why?” Michael asks, leaning forward in his seat, his interest piqued.

“He didn’t say,” she answers. “Are you avoiding him? Because I can tell him I haven’t seen you if you want.”

“Why would I be avoiding him?” he asks.

“I don’t know, but you’re sitting in my bar staring down the bottom of a bottle for the first time in weeks so something is clearly up with you,” she says.

He grimaces, almost missing the days when he didn’t have friends who noticed things like that.

“Plus,” she continues, “if he’s texting _me_ to find out where you are, you must not be answering him.”

“Not on purpose,” Michael says, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He tosses it on the bar in front of him. The screen is cracked to hell and bits of glass have already started chipping off entirely. 

“Jesus, how’d that happen?”

“Fell out of my pocket when I was climbing the ladder out of my bunker,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. He’d fallen asleep down there after trying and failing to discover a way to bring Max back. He’d slept worse than usual, still dead tired when he climbed up the ladder to get something to eat, and his reflexes were too slow to save his phone. It was the cherry on top of an already shit day. “So much for being telekinetic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m a psychic who didn’t immediately realize her not-boyfriend was in love with her best friend,” she says, offering him an ironic smile.

“You know, it really doesn’t.”

They’ve reached the point where they can joke about their failed romantic experiment, but now’s not really the time.

“Alright, well, if you don’t want me to tell Alex where you are, speak now or forever hold your peace,” she says. “Maybe he can cheer you up.”

About thirty minutes later, a hand falls heavy against his back. Michael jumps, immediately on the defensive before he turns and sees a familiar pair of brown eyes staring back at him.

“Alex,” Michael says. Alex’s hand lingers on his back and there’s a whole new kind of tension thrumming through his body.

“Hey,” Alex replies, smiling.

He looks beautiful tonight, his hair tousled in a way that makes Michael just want to run his fingers through it and hold on. He’s wearing his leather jacket over a dark green henley that looks soft to the touch. His mouth moves, but all Michael can register is his sudden, overwhelming desire to kiss him.

“Uh, Guerin?” he hears Alex ask, that gorgeous smile dimming just a little as his brow creases and Michael snaps himself out of it. Alex isn’t Michael’s to look at like that. Not anymore.

“What?” Michael asks, eyes refocusing on Alex’s.

“Did you get my texts?” he repeats.

Instead of answering, Michael gestures toward his busted phone.

“Oh, wow,” Alex says, his hand falling from his back to inspect the phone. “How’d you manage that?”

“Dropped it,” he sighs, not wanting to reiterate the longer version of the story.

“From what, the Empire State Building?”

“Hilarious,” Michael comments, taking the phone from him. He puts it back in his pocket. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Michael watches Alex’s throat as he swallows, looking a little unsure of himself. Michael takes a sip of whiskey as a distraction while he waits for Alex to say something and when he does he notices Alex’s eyes narrow just a little.

“How many of those have you had?” Alex asks, gesturing toward the glass.

“Why, you looking to catch up?” Michael asks, a little defensive. He knows why Alex is asking and he’s really not looking for an intervention tonight, especially when he’s actually been doing really well at not spiraling into an abyss of alcohol and acetone dependency lately.

“Guerin,” Alex chides.

“Manes,” Michael replies in kind. He knows he’s being childish, but he didn’t come here to get judged.

“I thought you were easing up on drinking,” Alex persists.

“I am,” he snaps. “Just not right now.”

“Why?” Alex asks. “Did something happen?"

Michael laughs humorlessly, and before he can stop himself he asks, “You forget what day it is?”

Alex thinks about that a moment before it clicks. Michael can’t even look at him as he feels the sting of how much less that day seems to have meant to Alex. “Oh. You remembered the date?”

“How could I forget?” Michael asks, picking at the denim frayed at his kneecap. He’s not sure if it’s the liquor or the ache in his chest that makes him add, “Worst day of my fucking life.”

He supposes that, after Caulfield and Max, that might not exactly be true anymore, but it certainly was at the time. Sure, he’d been beaten bloody and bounced around from one shit home to another all his life, but Alex leaving him to go play soldier with his daddy? Shit, that had hurt worse than anything the New Mexico foster system could throw at him.

“Yeah,” Alex breathes, and something in his voice makes Michael look at him. His eyes are soft and full of regret. “Me too.”

Michael thinks about all the pain Alex has lived through, the trauma they’ve shared and the loss they haven’t and it kills him as much as it fuels him to think that Alex might be telling the truth.

“Alex…” he whispers, but the word hangs between them as they watch each other, caught in this fragile moment of honesty. “Look, I’m not, like, falling off the wagon or whatever, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words.

“Just what?” Alex prompts him, not angry or judgmental like Michael expects.

Michael shrugs halfheartedly. “Needed to take the edge off, I guess.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, not right away. Instead, he slowly reaches for Michael’s hand—the left one picking nervously at his frayed jeans—and covers it with his own. Michael lets out a shuddering breath as Alex starts to stroke his once-ruined knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says at last.

“What for?” Michael asks, voice rough.

“For putting you through that,” he answers, quiet and sincere. “I know it doesn’t mean much now, but… I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Tears prick at Michael’s eyes, but he blinks them hastily away. He _will not_ cry in front of everyone and their mother in the Wild Pony, especially not over something so viscerally personal. He nods and clears his throat and hopes that’s enough.

Alex seems to understand. He gives Michael’s hand a final squeeze before he pulls his own away.

“So,” Alex starts abruptly, eyes shining in the dim lighting, “other than wrecking cell phones, what have you been up to lately? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

Michael’s grateful for the change in subject. He can feel himself relax more and more, the shadow of what happened a decade ago lessening the longer Alex talks to him. It’s a reminder that Alex didn’t stay gone, that he’s _here_, and Michael wishes he’d realized sooner that that was exactly what he needed.

When Michael talks about his research, Alex even sits patiently and listens to his scientific ramblings. That’s one of his favorite things about Alex that he’s discovered since they started being friends—how fucking _smart_ he is. Even though they come from two different sides of the STEM field, he’s amazed at how much Alex is able to keep up with.

Eventually, Maria rings the bell for last call and as tired as Michael is he can’t help feeling a little disappointed that their night needs to end.

“Guess we should head out,” Alex says.

“Guess so,” Michael agrees.

“Can you drive?” Alex asks.

Michael bites his lip and thinks about it. He probably could make it home without incident, but he’s had a lot to drink tonight and he’s pretty exhausted. He doesn’t want to make Alex drive him home though. Maybe he’ll get a cab or sleep it off in the bed of his truck til he sobers up a little more.

“Your hesitation says no,” Alex interrupts his thoughts, making his decision for him. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Michael hears his name through the sleep-soaked fog clouding his mind and feels hesitant fingertips tickle his cheek before the warmth of someone’s palm settles over his neck.

When Michael opens his eyes to see Alex staring back at him, he feels his heart stutter, just a little. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of Alex’s car, the door ajar to make room for Alex to stand next to him. He must have fallen asleep on the ride.

“There you are,” Alex says, an amused quirk to the set of his mouth as he pulls his hand away. Over Alex’s shoulder, Michael sees the cabin instead of his Airstream. “For a second there I thought I was gonna have to carry you inside.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Michael replies drowsily.

Alex rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too when he says, “Come on, Guerin, inside,” and nudges him out of the car.

The ground shifts a little beneath his feet when he steps out of the car, but he rights himself before he does something embarrassing like face-plant in Alex’s driveway.

“You good?” Alex asks, eyeing him like a hawk.

“Yeah,” Michael brushes him off. “Just need some water.”

Once they’re inside, Alex greets Buffy, who is happily waiting for him near the threshold, and hangs his jacket up by the door before heading straight for the kitchen. Michael can hear the water from the tap running while he toes his boots off by the door after giving Buffy an adequate number of head scritches. He follows that sound into the kitchen to find Alex standing by the sink.

“I’d offer you ice, but the machine’s broken,” Alex says as he hands over a glass of cool water.

Michael takes it from him gratefully and leans back against the counter next to Alex.

“Want me to take a look?” he asks before he takes a sip.

“Maybe in the morning,” Alex answers, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes Michael feel warm. He realizes he’s never spent a night in Alex’s cabin before. It feels like he’s crossing an unspoken boundary tonight, like Alex is leading him over it.

“Am I crashing here then?” Michael asks, still not sure why Alex brought him _here_ when he could have just brought him to the Airstream.

“Well, you were asleep, so I had to make an executive decision,” Alex shrugs. “I figured instead of dropping you off home now and then driving back to give you a ride to your car in the morning, I could just drop you off at your car on my way into town tomorrow. You don’t have anywhere to be early, right?”

“Nah. I could’ve taken a cab, though, saved you the trouble,” Michael points out.

“And how were you gonna call it?“ Alex counters.

“Touché.”

They stare at each other for a moment while Michael drinks more water before Alex says, “I’ll just get you something to sleep in. Be right back,” and disappears down the hall.

When Michael finishes his water, he sets the glass on the counter and goes off in search of Alex. The cabin’s large, by Michael’s standards anyway, but he finds Alex’s bedroom with ease. The door is open, tempting him inside.

Alex is standing in front of a dresser near the bed, rifling through its contents. He freezes when he hears the old floorboards creak beneath Michael’s weight.

“Hey,” he says, turning around to face him, a faded black t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants in his hands. “These should fit you,” he says, tossing the bundle of clothes. “There’s also a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” Michael says once he’s caught them and takes a few steps closer to him. “So where do you want me?”

Michael watches the way Alex’s gaze lingers over his mouth, his neck. Alex wets his bottom lip before saying, “What?”

“To sleep,” Michael clarifies, hiding a smile. The hope he hasn’t let himself feel in so long simmers under the heat of Alex’s gaze.

“Oh, right,” Alex says, running a hand through his hair, snapping out of whatever thoughts he was having about Michael’s mouth. “I’d offer you the bed, but my leg won’t thank me if I sleep on the couch.”

“Probably more comfortable than my mattress anyway, so I’ll take it,” Michael says.

“Oh, it’s _definitely _more comfortable than your mattress,” Alex laughs. “That thing’s like cardboard.”

“Hey, don’t knock it too much,” Michael says, thinking of all the times he and Alex put its durability to the test. “That cardboard’s been with me through a lot.”

“I remember,” Alex says, flushing slightly.

“Hard to forget,” Michael adds, and he’s sure he doesn’t imagine the hungry look in Alex’s eyes when their eyes meet.

Alex clears his throat and looks away. “We should probably, uh, go to bed now.”

“Yeah, probably,” Michael agrees, even as he imagines what it’d be like to press Alex up against the dresser and get lost in him the way he used to. He won’t, but it’s a nice thought. “Goodnight, Alex,” Michael smiles and starts walking toward the door.

“Night, Guerin,” Alex smiles back. “See you in the morning.”

Michael heads into the living room to find Buffy sleeping on his bed for the night. Buffy, being a beagle, is not an especially large dog, but she’s somehow managed to stretch her body so long that she’s taking up half the couch.

Michael has half a mind to head back into Alex’s room—“Look at her, she’s too sweet to move, we’re just gonna have to share the bed, Alex, we’d be _monsters_ to disturb her”—but he’s playing the long game and that’s just on the wrong side of desperate.

Instead, he nudges the dog closer to the edge of the cushion until there’s enough room for him to lay down. Buffy doesn’t seem to mind and he slides in next to her and pulls the blanket from the back of the couch to cover them both.

When Michael wakes up the next morning it’s to the smell of dark roast coffee wafting in from the kitchen. Buffy’s gone, he notices, presumably to chase birds in the yard or whatever it is dogs do in the morning. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he gets up to investigate.

Alex is standing in front of the stove, fully dressed, with one hand on his hip and a spatula in the other.

“Morning,” Alex smiles at Michael over his shoulder. “Coffee’s on the counter and eggs’ll be done soon.” He jabs the spatula toward the other end of the counter where a mug sits next to the coffee pot.

It’s so… _domestic,_ Michael feels a little like he’s in the Twilight Zone, like he’s just walked from one dream into another where he and Alex are together and Alex is cooking him breakfast just because he can. It’s a far cry from the cold sheets he usually woke up to first thing in the morning when they used to hook up. It makes him feel off-kilter, vulnerable in some indescribable way, like someone looked deep inside his brain and plucked out a fantasy he never even knew he had.

“Hey, you okay?” Alex asks softly, turning around to get a better look at Michael.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, snapping himself out of the daze he’s in. He heads to the coffeemaker and pours himself a cup. “Morning,” he adds when he remembers.

“How’d you sleep?” Alex asks.

“Like a baby,” he says, not _entirely_ honest, but it makes Alex smile for some reason so he’s not about to contradict himself.

“Yeah, you looked pretty cozy this morning,” Alex says, voice light and amused. “I’ve never seen Buffy let anyone besides me spoon her like that, you should feel very special.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, wondering if Alex’s ex had a hard time getting Buffy to warm up to him. The thought gives him a sudden burst of smug satisfaction. He watches Alex cook, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his mug.

“Mhmm.”

“So what’s all this for?” Michael asks as he watches Alex try to flip the eggs without bursting any yolks.

“What do you mean?”

“This, breakfast,” he says, gesturing to what Alex is doing. Alex looks at him with an unsettled look and Michael’s quick to add, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but… people don’t usually go through this much effort for me when I crash on their couch.”

“Well that’s… sad,” Alex frowns. “It’s just eggs, Michael.”

The use of his first name makes his heart jolt. Alex rarely calls him that, and when he does the situation is usually _much_ more intimate than this. Michael concentrates a little harder on Alex’s body language, searching for any hint of what Alex is really thinking.

He’s holding himself a little stiffly, fidgeting more than usual. When Alex catches him staring, he smiles at him a little too wide. If Michael were anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have been able to catch it, but it’s suddenly plain as day. Alex is nervous about something.

“No, it’s not,” Michael says quietly, his stomach suddenly in knots himself. Alex deflates a little, like some of the air’s gone out of his sails. “What’s going on, Alex?”

“Can we eat first?” Alex sighs.

Michael doesn’t answer, immediately running through every possible thing Alex could want to talk to him about. It’s then he remembers that Alex was actively looking for him yesterday, but never told him why.

Alex pushes a plate into his hand and encourages him over to the kitchen table. Michael takes a seat, places the eggs in front of him, but he doesn’t touch them. Has Alex been waiting all night to talk to him about something? _Why?_

“It’s big, isn’t it?” he asks when Alex sits next to him, not across from him like he expects, with his own plate._ Is Alex okay? Did he find something even more nightmarish than usual in the Project Shepard files? Fuck, is he being _relocated_?_

“You should eat first, your eggs’ll get cold,” Alex says nudging Michael’s plate toward him with the tip of his finger before taking a bite of his own food. It’s as much of a confirmation as he needs.

“No offense, Alex, but I don’t give a damn about the eggs right now. Can you just tell me what you want to say?” Michael pleads. “I’m kind of freaking out.”

Alex sighs and puts his fork down beside his plate. “Please don’t freak out,” he says.

“Okay, I don’t know how they taught you to calm people down in the Air Force, but saying ‘please don’t freak out’ is maybe the _worst_ thing you can say,” Michael complains.

“Okay, yeah, that maybe wasn’t the best way to lead,” Alex laughs self-deprecatingly. “It’s nothing bad, I swear—unless I’ve massively misread things, but I don’t think I have. There’s just been something on my mind lately and I’ve been waiting for the right time to talk to you about it.”

“Why didn’t you last night then?” Michael asks. Alex’s reassurance has assuaged some of his anxiety, but none of his confusion. “That’s why you were looking for me, right?”

“You were already drunk when I found you and if we were gonna talk about this, I wanted both of us to have clear heads,” he explains. “Figured it would be better to wait until morning.”

“Okay,” Michael says, shifting in his seat. “Well, I’m sober. Hit me.”

Alex takes a deep, fortifying breath before asking, “Do you remember what you said when I told you I broke up with my boyfriend?”

Whatever he was expecting Alex to say, it certainly wasn’t _that_. Michael swallows and tries to guard his expression.

“I asked why,” Michael answers. “You never told me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Alex agrees. “But that’s not all you said. You said he reminded me of what I was like in high school.”

Michael remembers. “You said that was part of the problem.”

“Yeah, it was.” Alex wets his bottom lip with his tongue and angles his body more toward Michael before he speaks again. Michael tracks the movement, feeling the sudden desire to lean in and _taste_, but he lost that right a long time ago. “Do you remember what I was in high school?”

“An irreverent mall goth with questionable fashion choices?” Michael quips, eyes still on Alex’s mouth, but he looks up when Alex laughs. He likes the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Well, maybe, but not the answer I was looking for.”

Emboldened by Alex’s mood, he guesses, “A sexy twink with an eyeliner fetish?”

“Michael,” Alex admonishes with a tilt of his head, but the smile’s still there. Michael’s stomach flips happily at Alex’s continued use of his first name.

“Alright, tell me then. What were you in high school?”

Alex sobers up a little and says, “In love with you.”

It’s not the first time Alex has told Michael he loved him in high school, but it takes Michael’s breath away all the same.

“Alex,” he whispers, but Alex raises his hand to stop him.

“Wait, just let me say this,” he says. 

Michael nods for him to continue, heart in his throat.

“I’ve been… reclaiming myself these last few months. So much of my life has been decided by my father and I needed to figure out who I am now that he’s gone, so I made some changes. I got new clothes, a new boyfriend, let my hair grow out a little. I finally felt like _me _again, but I was missing something. I was missing _you_.

“I thought maybe we could be friends, that it would be enough for me if I could just have you in my life somehow, but… God, near the end of our relationship, every time I was with him, I just kept thinking about who I was eleven years ago and how much that person _loved_ you. And you know what I realized?”

Michael shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

“That’s the _one thing_ that hasn’t fucking changed in the decade I’ve known you. It’s the only part of me my dad could never destroy, no matter how hard he tried,” Alex says, eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’re at the core of me, Michael. You always will be and, as much as I love being your friend, I want more. I want everything.”

Michael’s not quite sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows his hands are in Alex’s hair and he’s locked in a kiss so intense it leaves him breathless. God, he’s missed this so much—the taste of Alex in his mouth, his hair soft as satin against his skin. Michael feels _alive_ for the first time in a long time, but before he gets too carried away there’s something he needs to say. Michael pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, smiling softly when he sees how absolutely wrecked Alex looks.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” Michael confesses, untangling his fingers from Alex’s hair and reaching for his hand instead. He takes a deep breath and braces himself before he continues, “But if we do this, we do it for real, okay? No more hiding. No more running away. I can’t do that again, Alex. I won’t.”

“No more hiding, no more running away,” Alex reassures him. “I’m done pretending you’re not the most important person in my life. I’m all in if you are.”

“I am,” Michael nods.

“Really?” Alex asks, an excited smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “You really want to do this?”

A smile of his own breaks onto Michael’s face. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Alex beams at him and moves back in to kiss him. Michael sighs happily into it, losing time to hot press of Alex’s mouth, to the warmth of his handsagainst his scalp.

Their eggs get cold, but, well, who fucking cares?

“You’re at the core of me too, you know,” Michael whispers, hours later, when Alex is resting between his naked thighs, his head pillowed on his bare chest.

Michael can feel Alex smile against his skin. “I know,” he says, and presses a kiss to his sternum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write lol, I hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@prouvaireafterdark!](https://prouvaireafterdark.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Also, in case you’re wondering, yes, 90% of the reason this fic got written was so I could use the phrase “blue-haired fuck.”
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@prouvaireafterdark!](https://prouvaireafterdark.tumblr.com/)


End file.
